Elevator Music
by The Thunderbird
Summary: There is something... much more exciting about elevators than people usually think. Go ahead, guess what I'm thinking of. FujimiyaHidaka one-shot glorious nonsense.


Here it is: my latest creation. And, if I do say so myself, it is delightful. I don't think I've ever been so… un-modest about my work before. Maybe it's not the work and maybe it's just me. Or maybe it is an example of literary genius and you should all tell your teachers you want to study me in class. God, how perfectly marvelous! Weiss shonen-ai in AP English. If I ruled the world….

The basis for this, well, the setting, sort of is from a Weiss re-make that three friends of mine did not have not done yet. (Psst! They are Jiasa Stormcloud, Tysoyo Kalli, and MeltingSilver! Go read them!) So the difference that matters in this story is that they do not all live at the flower shop. In fact, it doesn't even exist in the way that it did. Haha, take that.

p.s. Did you notice how my pairing thing said: Fujimiya/Hidaka? Did you like that? I think it sounds like a company that makes small plastic things.

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Ken followed Aya into the apartment building out of the wind. It was night, but not so night, and he left his watch at home so the best time he could give would be… "After dinner-ish". Aya had invited him back. He liked that. It wasn't that it was rare, but it was exciting to be in that room that looked, smelled and _felt_ like Aya.

They entered the elevator alone, selected their floor (57) and leaned simultaneously against the wall across from the door.

Aya was a little antsy with anticipation. Listening to Ken breath and move so close was too much unless something was to follow. The obsession bothered him a little, seemed weak that a man should be so addicted to his lover, but it was probably the fault of the newness of the relationship. The feeling would fade and dim… though it they were lucky it would spark back when needed.

Nevertheless, when Aya felt Ken's hand touch his jacket, he turned instinctively to the call. Hands moved to secure them for the ride and suddenly they were kissing.

Ken loved the contrast; his body moving up as Aya's hands moved down…. And the elevator seemed to switch directions as said hands snuck under his shirt….

A bell rang.

The pair was apart as thought they repelled each other, Ken rubbing his lips idly as Aya fixed his hair. A woman entered the stopped elevator, carrying a briefcase. She pressed her number and away they went.

Her hair was blond and straight, long to the middle of her back. She screamed 'professional', black dress suit and high heels, standing motionless like a doll during the ride. Ken wondered if she felt anything. Or if she had a face.

Aya was busy counting floors.

8… 9… she was getting off at 14… …11… 12….

14!

It occurred to Ken as she left that he had no idea why she would carry a briefcase to another level of the apartment building.

But the door was closing and secrecy returning and Aya reached out his hand until it landed on Ken's cheek. Their lips had barely touched when a shout came from outside and the door opened off-schedule.

They broke apart, instantly, but not fast enough. A college boy squeezed in, gave them a knowing smile, then pressed his number and took his place, showing his back pack to them.

Caught.

The boy looked back once or twice, as if giving them a mandate to keep going if they wanted. But once permission was given, there was no fun to it anymore. People do most things for the sole reason that they are forbidden.

So while they progressed, Aya contemplated this. Even when the boy was gone it would be ruined, wouldn't it? "Game over" but no "Play again?" because things didn't just reset when the doors closed. The stench of failure would be all around them. They would have to try a harder level next time.

The elevator stopped and the boy vanished into obscurity. Aya waited carefully for the door to close and the elevator to stop moving before acting.

His hands balanced on Ken's hips, pulling them together in a loud mesh of jean. Their feet danced and shifted and Ken's head pressed into the wall with a silent moan as the correct position was established. Aya took command, rocking rhythmically while sliding his lips into the bend in Ken's neck.

This time, the elevator was moving up and so was Ken. Every grind sent electric ways roaring up his spine.

39… 40… 41…

Anticipation and uncertainty made Aya work harder, faster, enough to get Ken's hands into hair, enough to pry an audible moan from his lips to scare away the elevator music and fill the gap with their own.

50…. 51…. 52…

On the floor before theirs, the bell rang. Regretfully they separated. Aya crossed his arms and his legs while Ken managed to pull his coat down over his waist, rubbing his neck with one hand.

They were assassins again; cold and emotionless to scare off questions and allegations; to make it impossible for anyone to even _consider_ the truth.

A family entered, a mother, father and two little girls who said random things and pulled on clothing while staring at you with a combination of distrust and extreme curiosity. Ken found them adorable and almost gave into a desire to talk to them. Almost.

And it was only one floor.

But it took forever.

Ignoring the possibility of Ken's hand, Aya excited quickly. In the hallway, they were alone. But the halls were long and had mysterious bends and suspicious doors. So Aya fumbled with his keys as long as possible while Ken leaned on him, fingers teasingly nagging at his hair and lips so close to his ear but saying nothing.

Privacy was beyond the door, boring, silly privacy that gave no challenges. Of course, it was necessary for some things, but what about those that could potentially survive without it?

So later that night… after the anticipated event had been completed and Ken was falling asleep as he always did, Aya was staring at the ceiling, feeling beautiful as he always did. And he turned on his side to touch Ken's hand so he could whisper in his head.

"Let's go to a park tomorrow."

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So… I'm still a bit iffy on the beginning. But I think I like it now. I hate starting stories. If you want to give me some criticism in your review, tell me about the beginning x-x.


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